


I'm sorry / You belong with me

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Jehanparnasse Week [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, also discussions, because nothing is better than hurting those adorable babies and then comforting them, but their relationship is still healthy, can you believe Grantaire is the voice of reason, like in healthy relationships, mentions of verbal fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Even best relationships have troubles sometimes. Especially when one tends to disappear and the other tends to worry. Sometimes anger makes you say things you don't mean and do things you'll have to apologize for. Which may not be as easy as it seems.





	I'm sorry / You belong with me

**Author's Note:**

> 'cause sometimes Jehan messes up too.

Seeing Jehan sprawled on a table in the backroom of the Musain was quite a new sight. Most of the time, he was sitting at it (and on it when Bahorel decided that they needed something pretty to decorate the table), writing or drawing about or on his friends, or drinking and talking animatedly. Sometimes, he was standing and gesturing wildly when discussing, or singing with Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet. And one memorable time, he executed a perfect jig on the table while playing the flute. So, to see him half-laying on the table, his head on his folded arms, tracing unseen patterns on the wood with his finger, was unusual.

Grantaire came to sit beside him. He was already on his second bottle and was feeling happy enough that he could try to comfort a sad friend. He settled down, took a gulp of alcohol, and asked :

\- What is ailing you today, my dear poet ? Did your muse go on strike ? Did you break your favourite fountain pen ?

Jehan's only answer was a vague, Bahorelish grunt. Grantaire wasn't discouraged in the least.

\- Maybe you need a drop of alcohol ? It does wonder for the aching soul, and you look like your soul is aching, for whatever reason.

\- I don't feel like joking, the poet answered without lifting his head. Or drinking.

\- Then maybe talking about your suffering will ease it a little ?

\- There's nothing to talk about. I fucked up.

This time, Grantaire's eyebrows rose.

\- You ? You, sweet, whimsical creature ? Are you able of fucking anything, up or not ? Except, of course, your lovely other half. But then...

The look Jehan shot him almost made him back off. Almost.

\- Ah, did I touch a sensitive point ? But what could it be ? Did something happen with Montparnasse ?

\- Of course it did, Jehan sighed. I told you, I fucked up.

\- I'm sure it's not a decisive fuck up. Hope is a very resilient thing, you know ?

His expression turned soft at the last sentence. Jehan followed his gaze, to see Enjolras standing on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with Feuilly.

\- I know you mean well, he said, but there's no hope. Really.

\- Come on, monsieur Prouvaire. Tell me what happened that's so terrible that even Montparnasse, so in love with you that he would kill for you, would never forgive you ?

Jehan sat back with another sigh.

\- You know how I... went away last month ?

\- Went away ? Grantaire repeated with a small laugh. You vanished without a trace for two weeks, and came back with a new book of poems, a black eye, three horrible printed shirts and a tattoo on your wrist.

The evocation drew a smile from the poet. Satisfied with that manifestation of happiness, however small it was, Grantaire kept on :

\- You scared us all, but that's not the first time, we knew you were alright. We're starting to get used to your mysterious ways, o charming poet.

\- Yeah... Jehan answered, embarrassed. Sorry about that, by the way.

Grantaire waved to tell him that it was nothing for them.

\- But the thing is... You're used to me. But Monty... doesn't.

\- Ah. So that's where you fucked up ? You scared the love of your life ?

\- Worse.

\- Worse ? You scared him twice ?

Another warning look thrown his way. Grantaire just took another swig of alcohol.

\- I... well. I came home, went to take a shower, to change... and there he was. He looked... he looked so worried, R. I've never seen him so distraught...

Grantaire just nodded. He'd never seen Montparnasse distraught at all, so it was quite difficult for him to picture.

\- He grabbed me by the shoulders, and started yelling at me. That I was an idiot, and I didn't even warn him about leaving... That he didn't know what happened to me. I could have been killed or anything, and he didn't even know...

\- He's not that wrong, Grantaire said prudently.

\- I know... And that's not even the worse part. He kept shaking me and yelling, so I... kind of yelled back. And I... wasn't very nice about it.

\- What did you...

\- I told him that... that he shouldn't blame me because he always does the same, disappearing without warning... And that he didn't care... Oh, I told him he didn't care about anyone but himself...

A tear escaped from his eye, and he buried his face in his hands. Grantaire patted his head in a comforting matter, letting him cry. There wasn't any better way to lessen the pain a little. Finally, when the sobs shaking the poet calmed down, he offered :

\- Okay, that probably hurt him. But it's not the end of the world.

Jehan lifted his head, and openly glared at him.

\- Not the end of the world ? How can you...

\- I know. But he will forgive you. You just have to apologize.

\- Apologize ? Do you think it's...

\- No, Grantaire cut him again. It's not easy. It's going to be hard. But if you don't, you'll never get him back. And you know I'm right.

There was a long silence, that he used to drink more and contemplate Enjolras, who was trying to fold small origami animals under Feuilly's patient directions. Finally, the poet lifted his head, and timidly asked :

\- Do you think he will forgive me ?

\- I don't know. I don't know him well enough. But you need to take the first step.

\- You're right. I need to do something !

Jehan jumped on his feet. The next second, he was out through the door, running God knew where, probably finding how to make things right with his leather-clad dandy. That will probably turn alright, he thought. Those two were crazy for each other. He took a new bottle, opened it with his keys, and started downing his contents, all the time watching his two friends waving their paper birds around.

~*~

There was light shining under the door when Montparnasse came home that night. He hesitated for a second, but no assassin or jealous rival in their right mind would turn on the lights to kill someone or get a bloody revenge. Which could only mean...

He pushed open the door, and there he was, Jean Prouvaire, in all his plaid-wrapped glory. The skin around his eye was still a sickly green, and for a second, Montparnasse wanted nothing more to find the one who dared to hurt his poet and end his life. But then, he remembered the circumstances that led to that black eye, and if his good will didn't evaporate, it took a great step back behind his anger and sadness.

Jehan was on his feet before the door could even close. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, he wanted to grab Montparnasse, to beg him to forgive him, to fall on his knees, anything to erase the last days. But he stood where he was, unable to move. Montparnasse was looking at him, and even in the dim light, Jehan could see the redness around his eyes. His heart painfully wringed at that sight.

They stared at each other for what felt an hour, but probably was no more than a few seconds. Finally, Jehan braced himself and said softly :

\- I'm glad to see you.

"Ma rose" stayed caught in his throat. And Montparnasse didn't move, just watching him. His eyes were cold, like two stones, and his face didn't show anything. Jehan shivered, but Grantaire was right : he had to take the first step, even if it meant swallowing his pride.

\- I'm sorry, he offered, extending his hands.

Montparnasse's eyes lowered to look at his palms, still stained with ink but luckily free of cuts and defensive wounds, then went back to Jehan's face. He remained silent. Jehan took a step towards him, causing his boyfriend to tense a little, and kept on.

\- I know I hurt you by disappearing like that.

Montparnasse made a tiny, choked noise, and in any other situation, Jehan would have rushed to comfort him. But he was the cause of his distress, and he had to make up for it.

\- I should have warned you. Sometimes, I just... leave. I need to... explore the darkness, to better write. The others know about it now, but you...

\- I thought something happened to you, Montparnasse whispered.

The hurt in his voice was overwhelming, and once again, Jehan had to stop himself from running to him. But now was not the time. Now was the time to own his mistakes.

\- I'm sorry, he repeated. I didn't mean to worry. I wasn't in immediate danger anyway, and...

\- In immediate danger ? Montparnasse repeated, louded this time, and Jehan flinched. How was I supposed to know ? How was I supposed to know you were just doing your poet work and not lying in a ditch with your throat sliced from ear to ear ?

\- I... don't know.

\- And don't give me that "not in immediate danger" shit when you come home with a damaged eye, and probably other bruises too ! Is it normal, too ?

\- No, of course not... It's just... something I need to do. But not telling you was wrong, and for this, I'm sorry. For this and... for everything I told you, too.

\- Are you going to tell me you had to do this, too ?

The tone was biting, more bitter than before. There laid the heart of the pain Jehan inflicted him. There was the ache he needed to soothe. His eyes met Montparnasse's, in an attempt to convey how he felt, and said :

\- No, I didn't. I sincerely regret everything I told you. When you grabbed me like that... It scared me. You've never been like that before...

\- Are you saying it's my fault ?

\- No ! It's not your fault ! But I felt... angry, and scared, and I was ashamed, so... I tried to hurt you back. But I didn't mean... I don't mean that. I don't think you're heartless and you don't care. You're an amazing, caring person, and I'm... I acted like an idiot, a selfish idiot.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Jehan had to stop himself from lowering his eyes or wringing his hands. Then, finally, Montparnasse's stance relaxed a little.

\- You're right, he sighed, you acted like an idiot. But... You're not totally at fault.

\- Really...? Jehan ventured.

\- You're at fault for not warning me, of course, and making me worry so much. But... I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. I understand you felt threatened. I was just... very scared for you. I didn't think...

Jehan smiled softly. He extended a hand, and offered :

\- If you can accept my apologies for acting like a selfish idiot and scaring you, I can obviously accept yours.

Montparnasse didn't move at first, instead observing the poet, as if looking for a proof of his honesty. Then, very slowly, he took the offered hand and squeezed it gently. Jehan wanted nothing more than throw himself in his boyfriend's arms, but he stood like that, enjoying the simple contact. After a few seconds, Montparnasse stepped closer, and embraced him slowly.

\- Do not go away again, he muttered. I don't want to lose you. You belong with me.

Jehan nodded, too moved to answer. Instead, he leaned his cheek against the top of his boyfriend's head and sighed happily. He knew everything wasn't resolved yet, and they'd probably need to talk about it. But for now, it didn't matter. What mattered was Montparnasse against him, the arms tight around his waist, the slow rise and fall of the back under his hands, and the beat of the heart against his chest. The rest could wait.


End file.
